


One in a Million

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Jealousy, Oral Sex, Pegging, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: When Pansy fucked Harry, she liked to pretend she was Ginny Weasley.





	One in a Million

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HP-Het Fest. The prompt asked for pegging with dirty talk and praise kink. Like always, a big thanks to my beta, Lena!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

When Pansy fucked Harry, she liked to pretend she was Ginny Weasley.

Ginny was taller and stronger; she’d dated Harry for _years_. She was better at this, Pansy was sure of it.

Harry liked to be penetrated; he liked to be _fucked_. He was so much bigger than Pansy, and it was awkward. She couldn’t fuck him against the wall; she couldn’t fuck him from behind. He had to be on his back, his legs in the air, his hands twisting the sheets. 

He had acquired this taste somewhere, with _someone_ , and it must’ve been with Ginny. She was a Quidditch star with loads of muscle, and she was only a little shorter than him. She had the _strength_ to force him to submit. 

She imagined it: Ginny forcing Harry against the wall and whispering filth in his ear: _I own you_ ; _Are you going to give me your arse?_ He probably shuddered and arched into her. He probably nearly came in his pants. 

No one expected Pansy to be with Harry. No one expected him to choose her over Ginny fucking Weasley.

Their relationship was shocking, baffling; she knew what people thought when they saw them together, and she focused all her frustration, all her shame, into making him come hard on her cock.

He wasn’t better than her. He wasn’t with her because he _pitied_ her. He was with her because she could do this to him, because she was sexy and clever and funny. She was worth his love. 

She had his legs thrown over her shoulders, warm, sweaty, hairy. She imagined asking him to shave them for her, and her eyes fluttered, her fingertips biting into his hips. She liked holding him like he had curves, like he was breakable. He seemed to like it, too.

 _Concentrate_ , she told herself. Fucking someone with a strap-on took _work_. It was unbearably arousing, but the effort made Pansy grit her teeth and shake. The power was intoxicating. 

“Pans,” Harry murmured, his glasses askew. She loved his glasses, and she always enjoyed it when he forgot he had them on.

“Shut up,” she said, and thrust harder. He gasped and arched his back. She wanted to choke him, but she couldn’t reach. 

“Please.” He arched into her, his hands fisting the sheets. He was panting, and there was such a nice shade of pink streaking his neck and chest. 

She pulled back until the dildo was almost out. He squeezed, wanting more. “You need to relax or I won’t be able to give you what you want.”

He exhaled shakily, his toes flexing near her ears. 

“You’re still too tight.”

“I’m _trying_.”

She dragged a single finger down his desperate cock. “Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?” 

He moaned softly. “Yes.”

She thrust back in oh so slowly, her hand wrapped around the base to guide it and make sure he didn’t push her out. “I know you like me deep inside you. I know you like to be so good for me.”

“Pans,” he breathed. “I need it. I need you.”

When she made it all the way inside, she rocked into him, picking up speed. His eyes shot open, and he stared at her with his mouth open.

“There it is,” she said, laughing.

“Fuck.”

She wanted to pound into him; she wanted to make him fucking explode. She dug her nails into the vulnerable flesh on his thigh. “I thought I told you to relax.”

He gasped again, his beautiful eyes slipping closed. His cock was leaking, the tip so very red. He liked it when she hurt him. She had no idea _why_ , but it made her dizzy. She shifted and felt her own wetness pooling in the strap-on’s pants. She throbbed for him and his pretty, pretty cock. She wanted to tie him up and ride him until his eyes rolled back, until he begged her with tears running down his face.

This was what Harry Potter did to her. 

Slowly, his arse opened for her. She rocked and rocked until she thrust as hard as she could, her teeth digging into her bottom lip, her sweaty curls falling into her face. She rested against him, her mouth pressed to his chest, her arms doing their best to control his legs. She pounded into him deeply, all her strength focused on keeping the dildo inside him. 

He writhed beneath her, his skin warm and slick. “Touch me. _Touch me_.”

 _No_ , she wanted to say, but she took pity on him. She tugged him quickly, the angle awkward and hurting her wrist. She tried to time her strokes with her thrusting, but it was too much. He didn’t care. He jerked in her palm and swore.

“Close,” he grunted.

“Come for me,” she moaned.

He thrashed and trembled; he _whimpered_. “Pans,” he whispered, groaning deep in his chest. He spilled over her fist, smearing their stomachs. He clenched so hard that all she could do was wiggle her hips.

She milked him until he relaxed against the sheets, panting, jerking. She grimaced at all the come on her hand. She pressed two fingers to his lips.

“Open,” she said, not sure if he was brave enough to do it.

Eyes glittering, he sucked her fingers into his mouth. 

“Taste yourself. Eat your own come.”

He moaned softly and sucked harder, his tongue lapping around her knuckles. She bit back a laugh. She was giddy and surprised and a little embarrassed. Merlin, he made her so dirty.

She pulled out gently and took off the strap-on. He embraced her and kissed her deeply. He tasted awful, and it was so damn arousing. 

He touched her between her legs. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”

“I want your fingers. I want your tongue.” She really wanted his cock, but she was too desperate to wait for him to get hard again.

“Tell me exactly how you want it.”

“No,” she said, because she could feel the power dynamic shifting and she didn’t like it. She pushed him until he lowered between her thighs. “I want you to fuck me with your tongue. I want to choke you.”

“Christ, Pans,” he said, laughing.

“Shut up.” She buried her hand in his hair and tugged.

He finally took off his glasses. He parted her with his fingers and sunk his tongue into her. His eyes fluttered as he ate her, his tongue flicking, massaging, her arousal filling his mouth. He moaned and thrust a little into the bed. 

“Harry,” she groaned, liquifying. She followed his mouth needily; she whispered his name again and again. She loved reminding the universe that _Harry Potter_ was eating her cunt, and it wasn’t a mistake or a fantasy. It was _real_ , and she deserved it. 

“I need your fingers.” She was breathless, almost whining. 

He sat up, and his mouth was drenched. He slipped three fingers inside her easily, his thumb flicking her clit, his other hand stroking his cock.

“No,” she said, and pulled him until he hovered over her awkwardly. Her toes curled. Fuck, fuck, that was the spot. 

“Pans,” he whispered, his fingers pressing harder. He alternated between massaging her deeply and fucking her quickly. He knew what sent her over the edge. “Come for me.”

“Fuck you.” She twisted and panted; she was close, so close -

He laughed hotly. He bit into her shoulder, and that was what did it: Her orgasm crashed through her, and she moaned so fucking loudly. This one was intense and long, and she rode his fingers like a slag, thinking of nothing and everything. She wanted to see him tongue-fuck Ginny Weasley. She wanted to see him writhed on the floor as Ginny forced her own sodding hand into him.

Later, after Pansy dozed and Harry stumbled to the toilet to clean himself up or wank or both, they lay on the bed with his arms wrapped around her. 

He kissed her neck and nibbled on her ear. “You like dominating me, don’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“You are one in a million.” 

“Says the only bloke to survive a killing curse.”

“ _Twice_.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He laughed and pulled her closer. “I love you.”

She shivered. It was so easy for him to say it, and he said it often. She hated herself when she said it.

“I love you, too,” she said quietly.

He whispered in her ear again: “One in a million.”


End file.
